


A Study by Death

by Summerfall



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 13:03:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6117303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summerfall/pseuds/Summerfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death has always been a constant in Killian Jones’ life. But just because he was a survivor, doesn’t mean Death wasn’t there to pick up the pieces. A story where Death was there for Killian through the moments that made him the man he is today… and most importantly, his death(s).</p><p>(Or where Death is never bored, especially when there are crazy fairy-tale characters running around.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study by Death

**Author's Note:**

> This version of Death is borrowed from Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series. You don’t need to read the books to understand him. Just know he loves cats and curry. And most importantly, Death’s voice is represented in UNQUOTED CAPS.
> 
> Spoiler free. A more hopeful feeling to Killian going into the Underworld than what the spoilers are indicating.

The first time Death met Killian Jones, he was 5 years old and clutching his mother’s hand as she took her last breath, her face lined with pain but with a grimace of a smile on her face for her two brave boys. Sobs of incomprehension filled the tiny room as the dark haired boy begged for his mother to wake up, to open her eyes, to come back to him.

The scythe fell from Death’s well-practiced hands and the woman on the bed was beside him, gazing sadly down at her two boys.

“I can’t leave them. They’re both so young.”

YOU DO NOT HAVE A CHOICE.

The woman gave a heavy nod; she knows this, has known it for a while now and has prepared her eldest son, Liam, for the inevitable possibility. But Killian, he was still so young with so much growing to do. She wished she can be there for the both of them, to become the moral handsome men she knows they will be.

Her heart swelled as Liam went to hold his brother, face taut with emotion as he fought the waves of grief in the face of his younger brother’s sorrow. He who must now be the pillar of strength.

As she started to fade from existence, she asked, “Will they be taken care of?”

I CANNOT SAY.

***

The second time Death met Killian Jones, he was collecting a sailor at sea who was thrown from the crow’s nest during a vicious storm. His body was spread-eagled in a grotesque fashion, covered by a dirty white sheet, ready to be thrown overboard.

While the rest of the crew were tidying up in the aftermath of the storm, the unmistakeable sound of a lashing sliced through the air.

“He tried to save me, that lad.” The sailor said sadly as they watched the dark-haired boy struggle not to make a sound, his face wet with tears. “A good lad, but a foolish one. Abandoned his post for a dead man.”

They watched as the elder Jones ran forward, defending his brother and taking the whip for himself, despite Killian’s cries of protest. More blood will be spilled before the day’s end.

Death turned away, taking the sailor with him with mild objections.

“Those boys don’t deserve this life.”

NO ONE EVER DOES.

***

Death is not unobservant to the human life. On the contrary, he sees too much, hears too much until all the stories bleed into one another and becomes cries of pain and misery, of regrets and suffering, for the departed souls and the ones left behind.

***

The next time Death comes across Killian Jones would be with Liam Jones by his side as they both gazed upon the broken lieutenant rocking his brother’s body, choking on sobs and unheard promises as he prayed to any deities that would listen.

It was like his mother all over again, except this time Killian Jones is truly by himself, without his support and confidante by his side, without his big brother to tease and admonish him, to love him.

The soul next to Death was faring little better, tears tracking his face as he reached for his brother, only to have his hand slip through.

“Put me back, I cannot leave him like this.”

YOU MUST.

“I’m supposed to look after him, protect him, the two of us against the world. I cannot do it from the other side.”

Death’s stare was impassive.

“I should have listened to him.”

YES. YOU SHOULD HAVE.

“What will happen to him?”

LIVE AND DIE AS ANY HUMAN MUST.

“And where do I go?”

ON.

“Killian, listen to me. You must live, do the right thing, continue to be an honourable man. Trust in your instincts as I should have done. I am so proud of you.” His voice broke, feeling the pull of the afterlife. “I do not wish to leave you, brother and I am so very sorry. Be brave. I love you…”

The captain’s voice faded as he disappeared, leaving behind a broken shell of a man and a lost boy.

***

In the aftermath of Liam Jones’ death, Death only encountered the younger Jones in passing, often as a result of collecting his bounty as men upon men fell before him. The boy is now a pirate, a man hidden behind a mask of vengeance, with grief and despair coursing through his blood, fuelling his ruthlessness and recklessness. His pain seared onto his victims where his sword fell and with every gurgle of life taken away. Killian Jones ran but found no relief, grief a never-ending presence tight on his heels and numbed by drinks and women.

Not that Death witnessed any of this, being occupied elsewhere in the realm or outside of it. The tales come from those we dared cross Captain Jones and forfeited their lives in the process. Between him, the Evil Queen and the Dark One, Death has his hand full with the Enchanted Forest.

It occurred to Death briefly that if the younger Jones were to have heard his brother’s message, it may have made a difference. But Death does not interfere with human affairs and so the thought slipped away unbidden.

Indeed he had his chance when Killian Jones laid in a fevered state following the loss of his hand, infection having settled in and his heart further torn in agony. His hand clutched his brother’s ring like a talisman. Stripped of his leather and kohl, he looked more like the lost little boy than the fierce pirate captain.

“This wasn’t meant to happen.” Milah had said as Rumpelstiltskin disappeared in a cloud of smoke, taking Killian’s hand (and heart) in a sick twist of vindictive pleasure. “He was supposed to take the bean and leave us be, that vile bastard!”

WHO KNOWS THE DARKNESS THAT RESIDES IN THE HEARTS OF MEN? HUMANS CAN BE SELFISH CREATURES.

Milah’s head snapped towards him, eyes flashing. “Do not judge me.”

I DO NOT. THIS IS MERELY A GENERAL OBSERVATION. YOU WERE UNHAPPY.

“That’s no excuse for what I have done.”

IT IS WHAT HUMANS LIVE BY TO SURVIVE.

“Killian was going to take me places, get Baelfire and explore the world.” A tender smile graced her lips as she gazed fondly upon the captain. “He’s a good man, my pirate.”

Death knew Killian Jones to be a man of passion and drive, who cares too deeply and hurts too much. But are not all humans the same? The need to love and be loved, of being wanted and needed, of escaping the loneliness that an empty crowd can bring, along with the keening voices from the mind.

“Stay strong, my love.” Milah floats a kiss upon his brow as the pirate howls with pain and fury.

Death stood beside Killian’s bedside now, watching the sands trickle through the hourglass as the physician tended to his wound and his closest crew members murmured amongst themselves. The pirate captain stands on the precipice of life and death, so frail the line holding him to this world (and lost to the tide of grief and sorrow) that a single nudge will result in his demise.

How hard is it to live; how easy to fall into Death’s embrace.

Death wandered the cabin to pass the time, recounting the heartfelt words of his mother’s when he came across her locket, relaying Liam’s plea at the book he used to own, and Milah’s wish at her charcoal likeness. The message of those who have loved and lost but never gone. Love is a foreign concept for Death, having seen it but not experienced it himself and he wonders at the power it holds, for it seems to cause more death than joy.

Death was gone by the time Killian Jones came back to consciousness, words of strength and love swirling in his mind like a vacant dream. It bought him back from the brink of death but it also served to remind him of what he has lost and deepened the need for bloodlust and retribution. Death learnt not to underestimate the human emotion, despite his indifference at it.

Soon after, the sands of time halted in Killian Jones’ hourglass. Death jiggled and tapped it, observing the same pattern for his crew. They were thusly placed in the Neverland section and Death was devoid of the pirate’s presence for a while for Neverland is not a place for Death.

Following his return from Neverland, Death collected more of Killian Jones’ victims, more aptly known as Captain Hook now. His reputation grew more widespread until people practically clutched at Death’s cloak, begging him to take them away. Those foolish enough to challenge Hook learnt their lessons in the silence of death.

***

Brennan Jones stood from his body as Death lifted his scythe. He gaped in shock at the blood pooling at his feet, his long-lost son standing over him, jaws clenched in antagonised fury.

“He did it. He really killed me.”

CAN YOU BLAME HIM?

Regret shone in his eyes. “No, I suppose not but I thought he would help me.”

BUT YOU LIED.

“But I –“

AND YOU ABANDONED HIM.

“Can –“

IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO GO.

Death watched Killian Jones as his hollow stare flicked between his father’s body and the boy he has newly orphaned before a steely resolve overtook him and he strode off to inform the Evil Queen of the completion of his task.

***

Death was working on overtime – there’s an avalanche in Arendelle, a pandemic in Agrabah and a gas explosion in Southern China. Yet Death is knee deep in souls in the Enchanted Forest, having just cleaned up from an ogre attack and now cutting loose the souls from a village massacre.

“He’s not dead.” One of the recently departed exclaimed helpfully.

INDEED HE IS NOT.

Killian Jones is buried beneath a few corpses, very much alive if his need to get into a comfortable position was any indication. Death vaguely wandered if perhaps the pirate captain has finally lost it.

The villager was still nattering on about having his thunder stolen even in the afterlife.

YOUR WIFE IS LOOKING FOR YOU.

This effectively had him scampering off in the opposite direction. Death would tell him it’s pointless to run but the best way to learn is to experience it for oneself.

Despite his other obligations, Death hung back to see what the pirate is up to.

The appearance of the Saviour piqued Death’s interest, especially if Killian Jones’ reaction was anything to go by. Like the blinds have been taken off and he could finally see; like a drowned man found at sea, saved from the clutches of his own demons.

“That’s really poetic.”

WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE?

“I’m trying to find my idiot of a husband.” The woman replied indignantly.

YOU WILL FIND HIM IN THE UNDERWORLD. AND YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO ESCAPE YOU THERE. GO.

Death gave the couple one last glance where Killian Jones was lying through his teeth.

DON’T BE A DUMBASS. 

***

Death saw Killian Jones several more times after this stint in the Enchanted Forest, in patches and glimpses. None of the souls he collected were attributed to the redeemed pirate anymore but Storybrooke is far from death-free. He checks in now and again and becomes a frequent patron at Granny’s, who offers him cider when it was apparent that he could not handle his alcohol (but that’s a story for another time).

He came close to collecting Killian Jones’ soul twice more: his drowning at Zelena’s hand and when the Dark One almost crushed his heart. However, his presence is due mainly to duty and never quite necessary – Killian Jones is a survivor.

The deaths is Storybrooke, however, are becoming far more ridiculous. Zelena had him running in circles with her apparent death and subsequent body snatching (a consultation with the afterlife manual was required in this case). But nobody pulls a crazy like Cruella De Vil, who tried to take Death’s scythe in an attempt to skin Cerberus for a new coat (and insulting Death’s fashion sense in the process).

***

The Author’s alternate universe is where Death was formally introduced to Killian Jones… or a version of him at least.

“Oh good. They got away.” Killian commented as swarms of guards ran past him, intent on their pursuit for the fugitive mother and child. He rubbed his back absentmindedly where he was stabbed. “Hopefully, they will have a chance to get back to their world.”

THEY WILL THANKS TO YOU.

Killian brightened. “You think so?”

OF COURSE. I AM DEATH.

Looking appropriately startled, Killian said, “How do you do? I’m –“

KILLIAN JONES. YES, I KNOW. I KNOW ALL. 

There was an awkward pause in which Killian scratched the back of his neck.

I AM ALSO ALLERGIC TO RUM. 

“Oh?”

IT MAKES ME FALL OVER.

Another awkward pause.

Death realised his social skills are rather lacking. Humans make it look so easy if they weren’t overthinking it. This was not how he imagined meeting an acquaintance to be like. Trying to relate appears to be failing.

“So what happens now?”

Death perked up (or as much as Death can) as an idea struck. It would be pointless at this stage to send anyone from this universe on, as they will all have to be retrieved back once the world rights itself (and Death is confident it will, he has seen the Saviour at work before).

THIS WORLD IS HIGHLY IRREGULAR AND EXTREMELY INCONVENIENT.

LET US GO SEE HOW THIS ENDS.

***

“Isn’t this eavesdropping?”

SHE LOVES YOU. DID YOU HEAR THAT? REMEMBER THAT.

“But I’m dea –“

JUST REMEMBER.

***

“Can’t you help her?” Killian asked over the clang of swords between Emma and Rumpelstiltskin.

I CANNOT INTERFERE.

“But you’re Death.”

YES, AND THAT IS LIFE.

***

As Death readied his scythe over Regina’s prone form, he urged the saviour’s boy to complete his task.

With a dazzling flash, the world became normal again (at least by Storybrooke’s standard). Death made a sound of relief for dramatic effect. These magical characters are the most troublesome to deal with. Not for the first time, Death contemplated taking a holiday or a sabbatical (Granny did say she was looking for new wait staff).

***

Camelot was another tragedy altogether, branded by lies and deceit, sewn together by greed and power. The turmoil of the Saviour taking on the darkness was a cruel turn of events, made worse by the twist in fate that had her struggling to save her true love.

Killian Jones laid on a field of Middlemists, the wound on his neck red and raw, leeching the life out of him as he struggled to hold on for Emma’s sake. His plea to let him go fell on deaf ears, overwhelmed as she is by his impending death.

THIS IS A VERY BAD IDEA.

Death knows of Killian Jones’ demons, having been there to witness it first hand at each occurrence, where each heartbreak and every scar creates a fissure for the darkness to creep in, to sit in waiting (for it is patient) until it has extended itself into every nook and cranny, ran deep into the veins and entangled along every nerve ending to the mind. Until hope is lost and light turns bleak. It pounces at the weakest moment and takes no prisoners. Unlike those who has succumbed to the tantalising taste of darkness, who have been seduced by the promise of power, Killian Jones had never operated under the guise of the misunderstood villain and has never made excuses for who he was. His villainy stemmed from love, his weakness and his strength – for love took him to the lowest depths of his evil deeds but it also bought him to the surface, to be a better man.

Killian Jones is wrong. He is far from weak.

Death’s scythe passed through grass as Killian Jones’ body disappeared in a whirl of blackness.

YOU LOT WILL HAVE ME RUNNING IN CIRCLES AGAIN AREN’T YOU? 

***

When Death met Merlin on the same plain, they regarded each other with quiet mutual respect.

“Death.”

MERLIN

“So it’s finally time.”

AS YOU ARE SO FOND OF SAYING: DEATH IS BUT THE NEXT GREAT ADVENTURE. ALTHOUGH I DIGRESS, IT’S RATHER TEDIOUS.

“Did I say that?” Merlin wandered.

Death paused a moment. PERHAPS I HAVE YOU MIXED UP WITH ANOTHER WIZARD.

The slightly amused look on Merlin’s face disappeared as he turned his attention to the mismatched group he had just departed, eyes lingering on Nimue before focusing on the new Dark Ones, sadness and regret heavy on his shoulders.

“I wish I could do more but I have done all I can. The rest is up to them.”

DID YOU NOT FORESEE THIS? 

Merlin gave Death a wry look. “I saw multiple paths this could have taken.”

FATE IS A FICKLE THING.

“Indeed it is. Certainly you would have sensed something yourself.”

I SEE EVERYTHING AND NOTHING.

“Sounds frustrating.”

IT IS RATHER ANNOYING.

Death could see the curiosity in Merlin’s eyes and is quite flattered. Most humans, regardless of position or title, magical or normal alike, choose to avoid Death by tampering with the structure of life’s DNA – creating objects such as the Holy Grail, Philosopher’s Stone, Fountain of Youth to name a few, which ironically has resulted in more deaths in the attempts in achieving these items. It took Death a good long while not to take it personally. (It is after all, a human fault to live a life in pursuit of more, always more, never content with what they have, only to discover towards the end that what they seek was always right before them).

WILL THEY BE ALRIGHT? 

Merlin glanced at him in surprise. “You care.”

I AM NO SUCH THING. 

Death examined the blade of his scythe.

POTENTIAL APOCALYPSES CAN BE MESSY. I SIMPLY ASK IN AN ATTEMPT TO ORGANISE MYSELF AND TO AVOID CHAOS. HIS GLOATING IS QUITE UNBECOMING.

Merlin hummed in sympathy and something akin to interest. “They are both survivors and stronger than they believe. It will be a hell of a long road for them but they will make it.”

GOOD.

Merlin’s eyes twinkled with far too much understanding.

***

There was a buzzing in his ear when Killian came to, accompanied by complete disorientation. Then his senses and memories assaulted him all at once, leaving him almost breathless. Sound came back in waves, as if from a badly tuned music box used in the Sheriff’s office.

It was Emma’s heart-wrenching sobs and pleas which reached him first, that tore at his heart and clawed at his soul.

She cradled his body in her arms, hand still pressed to his neck wound, white light pulsing sporadically in her need to heal and revive him. She pressed fervent kisses to his lips even as she choked on his name, a mantra repeated over and over.

“I love you, Killian, I love you. I’m so, so sorry, please don’t leave me.”

Killian pressed his fingers to his lips where he can still feel the imprint of her kiss, where her love was whispered into his skin, even as the sword took away his life. His Swan had heeded his wish and allowed him to die in redemption for his deeds. But he had never meant to leave her so broken.

It occurred to him that her words are those of blame, for herself. Her punishment for  _her_  deeds. He fell onto his knees beside her, reaching for her in a need to comfort, to reassure, to just touch. But he knew, before his hand passed through her, that she is now beyond his reach.

“You did not fail me, Emma. You need to keep living, love, for me.” His fingers ghosted her face, the apple of her cheek wet with tears, the silken strands of golden hair. He whispered his love for her, for her smile and her heart, for her trust and her belief in him, for giving him the chance to start over and be the man he wanted to be. She introduced herself to him with her wounds – her scars, unhealed bruises and every sharp piece of heartbreak she had, which found its way to him, to fit together with his own.

So intent the need to memorise every single detail that is his Swan that it hurt, like a physical twist to his heart. He took little notice of their surroundings until Emma’s parents moved towards her and he was afforded a clear line of sight of the Crocodile, looking respectfully mournful if not for the glint in his eyes. Killian’s pain dissipated in a moment of blind fury. He knew what had happened, had tried to warn Emma to no avail.

I AM SORRY.

The raw sound of two bricks being rubbed together was surprisingly gentle, or as gentle as a voice suddenly appearing in your head like cold water can be.

Killian spun to face the cloaked figure. “You have to put me back; I need to make this right.”

I CANNOT.

“You are Death, you bloody well can.”

THERE ARE RULES.

“Sod the bloody rules!”

I MUST ABIDE BY THEM.

Killian stalked towards Death and snarled, “How can you sit by and watch this happen when you know something can be done.”

The look Death bestowed upon him was one of understanding, of having asked the same question every day. For a moment, Killian caught a glimpse of what it is like to be Death.

YOU TRUST THE LIVING. HUMANS ARE NOT TO BE UNDERESTIMATED. YOUR LOVED ONES WILL FIND A WAY.

Killian backed away, trying to reign in his anger and his helplessness. He died in the hopes that he will save them, only to place the powers back into the hands of the ultimate demon. He should have killed Rumpelstiltskin when he had the chance. Growling in frustration, he swung his hook at the closest tree. He expected it to go through; what he did not expect was the reappearance of his hand.

YOU ARE WHOLE IN DEATH. 

Killian flexed his hand, opened and closed it, his shocked gaze travelling to Emma who refused to let go of his body. Like an anchor that keeps him grounded, the rage seeped away.

“I can never be whole again.”

A MAN UNWILLING TO FIGHT FOR WHAT HE WANTS DESERVES WHAT HE GETS. FIGHT, KILLIAN JONES.

“I nearly damned them, I deserved what I got. The only consolation was keeping Emma away from the same fate.”

YOU DO NOT DIE IF YOU CANNOT LIVE. YOU HAVE LIVED AS BOTH A VILLAIN AND A HERO, KILLIAN JONES. MOST IMPORTANTLY, YOU CHOSE, NOT TO LIVE BY WHAT YOU WERE GIVEN BUT BY YOUR OWN DESIGN.

Silence descended upon the pair, filled with pensive acceptance and deference.

“Will you be able to send Emma a message? Warn them of what had happened.”

SHE WILL FIGURE IT OUT.

Realising that Death has the same faith in Emma as he does, Killian felt pride surge through him.

“Where to from here?”

DO YOU LIKE CATS? 

Killian blinked. “Excuse me?”

CATS. FURRY, GAMBOLLING CREATURES. DO YOU LIKE THEM?

“I have no qualms against them. I am more partial to the canine variety, however.”

OH.

The blue orbs that are Death’s eyes dimmed slightly as he adjusted his cloak, a faint rustling coming from within.

Killian sighed, wondering if he is going to regret this but figured he had nothing to lose.

Moments later, he was a proud owner of a black cat with green eyes. An abandoned kitten that Death had picked up in an attempt to find it a good home. Killian cannot tell if Death has a happy face (a skull does not have many expressions), but he departed the world with Death happily waving them on.

***

“Excuse me, Mr Reaper?”

Having never been addressed quite so formally before, Death halted in his tracks, turning to see the Saviour’s son staring at him expectantly.

ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?

“You are the Grim Reaper aren’t you? I mean, you’ve got the whole cloak, scythe and skeletal look going for you.”

I AM WHAT PEOPLE BELIEVE. 

Death eyed the young man who stood at ease before him, who is fast outgrowing his childhood and far from dying. He’s not a wizard and certainly not a cat.

AH, YOU ARE A BELIEVER. 

The youth smiled and closed the gap between them, holding out his hand. “My name is Henry Mills, sir.”

Sir. That’s another new one. Death reached forward and grasped the young man’s hand with his skeletal ones in a firm handshake. Henry did not flinch as many would. Then again, this young man before him belies many human superstitions and beliefs. Magic is hardly the most powerful source in the world, not when the power of an open mind is capable of withstanding the ugliest onslaughts. Death is not invisible as many people think, indeed he is the most tangible persona in existence and just as prominent as Life. The difference being that denial is a strong force to be reckoned with, along with fear of the unknown. As a believer, however, Henry Mills removes the stigma in his mind’s eye and embrace what is in this world and beyond.

WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU, MISTER MILLS?

“I want to help my mum, to get her happy ending back. But I need your help.”

I CANNOT BRING HIM BACK TO LIFE.

“I know. I know the rules and I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

THE GATEWAY IS CLOSED. 

“I just need to know if there’s another way.”

LET ME BE CLEAR – HE CANNOT ACCESS THIS WORLD FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GATEWAY.

The boy’s eyes lit up as the words sunk in. “But we can go to him?”

I DO NOT KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN.

“It’s a gateway, if he can’t come to us, we can go through it to him.”

I IMPLIED NO SUCH THING.

“You are awesome. Thank-you.” With a grin, Henry ran off in a tangle of limbs, his good-bye echoing through the clearing.

Yes, humans are indeed curious creatures.

Death has never taken sides but he is definitely interested in the outcome of what is to come. A wicked glint caught his eye.

GOOD LUCK HADES.

***

Death does not interfere with the human species. He does what needs to be done to keep the balance in the universe. He exists between the tick and the tock, the past and the future… but most importantly, the here and now. There is no right or wrong in Death, no good or bad. It just is. But once in a while, a moment comes along that defines the human race, which restores faith in humanity.

And really, that is what it is all about isn’t it?

Hope.

 


End file.
